Could Have Danced All Night
by Jada115
Summary: Miranda gets one over on Alan. BL characters belong to D.E. Kelley. Miranda and secondary characters my own creation. Romance/Friendship. No slash or flash.


Could Have Danced All Night

As promised Alan made the plans for the Paris trip. Actually, he had Brad Chase's assistant, Ryan, make the plans and print out the itinerary for him. It's amusing how some assistants will do anything for a little extra cash and attention from a star associate. He noticed Miranda at her desk. Well—most assistants. He could offer Miranda all the money in the world, but if she had decided to do—or not to do—something there was no making her—at least not with direct force or coercion. Subtlety worked best with her. He appreciated that stubborn streak in her as much as it might irritate him in a particular moment.

He sidled up behind her while she sat at her desk, typing, and held the paper over the computer screen, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, "It's all set…as promised." He smoothed her hair back and nuzzled her neck just above her pearl necklace. He closed his eyes, taking in her perfume.

His breath on her skin caused little trills to race through her. "That tickles," she giggled, squirming. She grabbed the paper and ran her eyes over it. "This is two weeks from now. Can we leave so soon?"

"We must…April is almost over and we have to see Paris in April. I read somewhere that it's a law."

She stood and threw her arms around him, wriggling. "I am so excited," she squealed. "I haven't been since college." She pulled away to look at him and said, "Thank you, Alan. Thank you." She placed kisses on his cheeks and hugged him again.

"No, thank you." His head grew light. "And as much as I'm enjoying your gratitude," he pulled back a little, "If you keep thanking me we're going to have to step into my office." He ran his finger over her clavicle dreamily and lowered his voice. "My senses have grown…_wolfishly_ keen given that it's been a few days since you've shared my bed."

She ran her hand down his silk tie and pulled close to him. "I've grown rather wolfish myself." She kissed him teasingly.

"Shall we then?" He began removing his suit jacket.

She laughed. "Oh no. Keep your shirt on, big boy. The anticipation of waiting for tonight is much more fun."

"Anticipation is highly overrated."

"You are ready for tonight, right?"

He blinked, confused. "What's tonight?" He straightened his jacket.

"That charity ball thing we're going to with Denny."

He smiled. "I had nearly forgotten."

"Really? I'm surprised. I thought you were eager to see my dress and to give away the money you won from Denny."

"Oh, I am." He sucked in his breath. "It's just that I've just had…" he ran his hands along the sleeve of her pink silk blouse. "A few things on my mind lately."

"Such as?"

"Paris. Well, Versailles, actually."

"What about it?" She put her arms around him.

"The Hall of Mirrors." He put his hands on her waist and lowered his voice seductively. "Wouldn't you just love to make love in the Hall of Mirrors?"

She laughed, looking up at him. "You're such an intriguingly naughty boy."

Alan chuckled. "One of my many charms no doubt."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

He was smiling at her, but his eyes began to grow increasingly distant.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's not that there's really something _wrong_ so much as there's a…caveat."

"A caveat?"

"To the trip."

"What do you mean?"

He paused then set his jaw. "How would you feel about taking Denny?"

She lifted her eyebrows, shocked. "You want to take Denny to Paris with us," she said flatly.

"Yes."

She pulled away and stepped back. She scoffed a laugh. "I suppose I had a very different idea of the purpose for this trip."

"You're angry."

"No." She shook her head. "I don't know what I am actually. A third wheel I guess?" She leaned on her desk.

"That's unfair. You know it's not like that. It's more like a…triangle."

"Clever." She sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed, Alan. I was really under the impression it was a trip for two—you know, romance, time away, togetherness, intimacy—all that crap."

"We can still have all that," he said excitedly.

She stared at him in disbelief and shook her head.

"It's just that I would not feel right about leaving him here alone. A couple days wouldn't be a problem, but a whole week…surely you understand that."

"I do, but is there no one else who can…watch him?"

"Yes, but she will be in Paris." He looked at her steadily. "Lately, however, she needs some reining in of her own. So now I don't know who to get."

She smirked sarcastically. "Funny. You're a funny guy."

"So I've been told." He moved closer and put his fingers on her belly and grew serious. "Miranda, there's no one else I _trust_ to look after him. And of the few people I do trust, they aren't capable of handling Denny. Do you not see that?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at her feet, nodding. "So are you telling me that it's me _and _Denny or no trip at all?"

"I am."

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "You're a real piece of work," she muttered.

His voice grew tense. "What would you have me do? I worry…"

She lifted her hand and she said angrily. "Just stop. You know, this was all _your_ idea. Remember that? I never expected the trip because I lost the bet and I was okay with that. Then you come waltzing in, feeling a semblance of guilt over your jerky behavior and _you_ offered the trip." She moved things around on her desk without purpose, shifting papers, putting pens in the holder, the energy of her anger necessitating that she do _something._ She wouldn't face him as she stacked folders. "And while it's likely your intentions were good at the time, you should have revealed up front that you wanted to take Denny instead of letting me believe it was going to be…something else." She sat down with a huff, and rolled her chair into place, giving the appearance of resuming her work though she couldn't really concentrate on it.

He moved around the side of her desk to try to see her face. "Miranda…the tickets…"

She continued typing as she spoke, refusing to look at him. "I can't talk about this right now, Alan."

"Miranda…"

"Please." She sighed again. "Just…go."

He tightened his jaw in frustration and walked away.

With the exception of work related interactions Alan spent another silent day with Miranda at the office. He wasn't accustomed to a woman who grew silent and pensive when she was upset or angry; it was too much like dealing with himself and it unnerved him. He could tolerate her anger better if she threw things or slapped him or flew into a hysterical rage—anything but the silence and withdraw. Yet, it wasn't a cold silence intended to manipulate him or control his behavior. She was still warm and remotely friendly toward him, just remarkably quiet as if preoccupied.

On his way out the door that evening, he stopped by her desk. "Shall I assume that Denny and I are still picking you up at seven tonight?"

"Yep." She smiled at him, but her eyes were distant.

He set his jaw. Suddenly the line from _All about Eve_ leapt to his mind: "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night." He prepared himself for a full on Margo Channing episode at the ball. A small part of him was actually looking forward to it.

* * *

That evening Alan showed up at Miranda's door ten minutes early. When she answered he felt as if the breath had been knocked out him.

"Oh my," he said, running his eyes over her. Her long black evening gown fit her form snugly, revealing every sensuous curve, sleeveless with a halter bodice and rhinestones at her neck. Her hair was pinned up in loose, tousled curls.

When she saw Alan, electric butterflies sparked and fluttered inside her—he looked so debonair. "Hello handsome," she said, seductively. "Mm-mm. I do love a man in a tuxedo." She pulled at the tops of her black ball gloves and threw a shawl around her shoulders while she looked him up and down.

"I like it when you leer at me," he said.

"Ditto." She winked.

Odd, he thought. Her mood seemed so different from her mood at the office that it put him a little on edge. Maybe there wouldn't be a Margo Channing episode after all. He opened the door for her and followed her out. She stepped carefully down the stairs. Denny's driver held open the limo door for her and she slid in next to Denny.

"Here you go sweetheart," he said, handing her a scotch.

Alan sat across from them.

Denny then pulled a cigar from inside his tuxedo and clipped the tip off for her. "Cubans." He put his finger to his lips and said, "Shh. Don't tell." He winked and chuckled.

Miranda smiled and accepted the cigar. She put it to her lips while Denny struck a match and lit it for her.

Alan prepared his cigar, watching Miranda with amused interest. He wondered when she would start turning green or coughing, but surprisingly none of that happened. In fact, she seemed to actually enjoy smoking it.

"You seem to have a great deal of experience handling a cigar."

She took a long, deep draw as she looked at him, her blue wolfish eyes glittering. Then she leaned her head back and released her smoke through the sun roof.

A hint of a smile teased his lips as his eyes traced the lines of her throat. She was dramatically beautiful—not a universal beauty that might gloss the pages of a magazine—nothing so pedestrian. No, instead she was as fierce and tempting as an ancient goddess—her features, her personality, strong, bold, almost masculine—yet feminine and seductive. He loved that she appeared dainty, yet was in fact shockingly, alluringly, tomboyish. She looked like what he imagined the goddess Selene would look like in mortal form—a glowing full moon wrapped in the silky sparkling night sky; yet, no weeping willow, this girl, no fragile flower. Perhaps she was more akin to Hekate—the more mysterious and magical side of the moon—made of stone and storm, she could call down the thunder and lightening. He smiled at that thought—of the wind and rain whipping her hair around that pale face and those startling blue eyes. Even the scratches healing on her cheek didn't take anything away from her beauty but added to it in a mysterious way—the marks of her valor, of her fierceness. A feathery unfurling tickled in his loins. She possessed that same warrior spirit he admired in Denny. Yet there was that within her that called out to him for protection, for tenderness, for love; that same thing stirred his most basic masculine instincts to shelter her, to completely and utterly possess her, to…

"Why are you smiling at me?" Miranda said to Alan.

He hadn't realized he was staring or that she was watching him.

He snapped out of his reverie. He paused, thinking quickly of something to say. "I was…thinking… about the day we bought your dress." He hated to lie to her like that, but he wasn't prepared to answer the question—not in front of Denny; it was too intimate.

"That was a fun time wasn't it?" She giggled.

"Tell me!" Denny said enthusiastically.

"We made love in the dressing room and was kicked out of the store." Alan said nonchalantly. He could talk about sex any time; it didn't have near as much intimacy as what he was really thinking. Of course calling back the memories of that day gave him a new reason to smile.

He and Miranda filled in the gaps of the story: the angry priggish store clerk; the security guard; the stares of the other patrons; the blushes of the girl at the cash register.

"Oooh, dressing room sex. I hadn't thought of that."

"And we were banned from ever coming back," Miranda added.

Denny laughed again, gnawing on his cigar. "You crazy bastards."

"You had never thought of dressing room sex?" Alan said.

"No, I hate to shop. I just give the woman my credit card and send her out to…hunt."

"I love to shop—especially with women. You take them to a store and get them to try on… tight…slippery things and sexy shoes—it's great fun. You should try it sometime Denny."

"And then sex in the dressing room," Denny said pensively. "I may have to rethink this whole shopping thing."

"Well, you don't get dressing room sex every time, Denny. This time was just …"

"Spontaneous," Miranda added.

"Yes." He smiled at her.

Alan was glad his ruse worked. He could tell his thoughts to her alone or he could tell Denny alone, but there was something about having them both there together that felt like he was with his wife and mistress at the same time. He knew neither would care nor be jealous because they were each aware of their roles in his life. But in his mind he had compartmentalized them for so long, it was going to take some time and effort on his part to get used to the idea of being entirely open and intimate with both at the same time—a problem the two of them apparently never had.

Miranda sipped her scotch, watching Denny and Alan, intuiting the atmosphere—the way they interacted, the relaxation between them. She realized she had never shared this moment with them both before—not like this. She felt both inside and outside of a secret they shared between them. She felt honored and awed. She threw back her scotch in one drink to take off the edge and held her glass out for a refill. Alan poured the drink for her.

Miranda began to feel warm and tingly. Her eyes slid to Denny. "So, will Joan be there tonight?"

"She's meeting us there. Can't wait. Haven't seen her in days. Might get a little cloak room action."

"Why haven't you seen her?" she asked.

"Her work keeps her busy."

"Is she still in commercial real estate?"

"Yea," he said, sipping his drink.

"I'm looking forward to seeing her again." She leaned her head back on the seat, cigar between her teeth, enjoying the floating, swimmy feeling in her head. "I like her."

"Let's have a toast," Denny said, shifting. He lifted his glass. "To friends."

"To friends," they all said, clinking their glasses together, then sipping.

"And to low places," Miranda added, giggling.

The men laughed. "I'll second that," Alan said, lowering his voice seductively as he raked his eyes over her. "I've always favored the lowest of places."

Miranda smiled at him coyly.

Denny said, "Oooh yes; those are the best places."

They touched glasses again and sipped.

"And may we all have many, many fun times together," Denny added.

"To fun times," Alan and Miranda said.

They clinked their glasses together and sipped again.

The car stopped in front of the Boston Park Plaza. The driver opened the door and assisted Miranda from the car. Alan and Denny stepped out after her. They entered the cream colored floral foyer, a huge sparkling chandelier dangled from the ceiling. Alan held his arm out for Miranda to ascend the grand staircase with him. Rather than take his arm, she pulled up her skirt up to her knee to reveal her red cowboy boots. A large group of people milled about in the lobby and along the staircase. They whispered and stared at her. Alan and Denny looked down at the boots, chuckling.

Miranda winked. "Ready boys?" She turned and jogged up the stairs without them, her curls bouncing and her shawl sliding from her shoulders to reveal the open back of her dress that dipped in a deep V down to her hips.

Alan laughed and said, "That's my girl."

"You lucky bastard," Denny said, slapping him on the shoulder. After some thought Denny added, "You know it occurred to me that there is no way she's wearing anything but her cowboy boots under that gown."

Alan watched Miranda reach the top and say hello to Joan with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. "Yes," he said placidly. "That occurred to me to."

They ascended the stairs together. Denny stopped suddenly, a startled look on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure but I think I just got blood flow." He thought then said, "Yep. Just pitched a tent."

Alan said lazily, "Just keep your tent pole away from my girl."

They continued up the steps. "Do you ever worry that someday she might kill you?" Denny asked.

"What do you mean?" Alan stopped on the stairs and turned to Denny.

"Well…she's young, vigorous and…you're not."

Alan frowned, mildly offended. "I've still got plenty of youth and vigor left."

Denny chuckled. "Yea right." He poked Alan's stomach. "You don't find it a little difficult to keep up with her?"

"Not at all. And don't poke my fat." He poked Denny's stomach. "And what about you? Joan is about 20 years younger than you as well."

"Yes, but I'm Denny Crane," he said putting his hand to his chest.

Alan narrowed his eyes. "Hmm." He started back up the stairs. "I suppose it doesn't matter we're all going to die someday of something and frankly." He smiled broadly. "But I can't think of a better way to go. Can you?"

"She can pull my plug any time."

Alan chuckled. "Indeed."

Joan and Miranda waited for the boys. As soon as they reached the top, Miranda turned to Joan and said, "Will you go with me to the powder room?"

"Sure honey."

As they walked away, Miranda leaned close to her and whispered, "There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

* * *

When the ladies returned, Joan took Denny's arm and Alan lightly placed his fingers against the small of Miranda's bare back and led her into the room. Her blood raced at his touch. Miranda was swept away by the ballroom: candles on every table, sparkling in the crystal dishes and chandeliers, masses of flowers and white table cloths, and a string octet playing in the corner of the room. They were playing a Beethoven sonata. What was the name of it? She stopped short and trained her ears on the music. Cold chills flashed over her skin. She breathed in the notes of the violin, deep inside. She closed her eyes.

Alan ran his fingers up her back and whispered, "Are you all right?"

The combination of the music, the atmosphere, and Alan's touch made her weak in the knees. She opened her eyes dreamily. "I'm fine. The music is… I was trying to remember the name of the sonata."

"I believe it's number 9."

"That's it! The Kruetzer Sonata. How could I forget?" She studied him. "I'm impressed."

He guided her toward their table. "I've been brushing up on my Beethoven—especially since I've learned you've been waiting to make love to the _Moonlight Sonata_ with that future special someone."

She smiled and said teasingly. "Oh, and do you think you're in the running for that special place?"

"It can't hurt to be prepared—just in case."

She laughed. "Time will tell."

They had their dinner, lively chat, listened to some award announcements from the charity group and watched the auction and raffle. Then the floor opened up for dancing. Joan and Denny left the table to dance. Miranda left the table to talk to some people she knew then was dancing. Alan watched her. He was envious of the man who held her in his arms; yet, he enjoyed watching her graceful movements. He was incredibly shocked to see the man hand her money after the dance. She dropped it in her clutch. She repeated the same with another gentleman and again took the money. After a few more dances she returned to the table. He decided to not say anything—to just wait and watch.

"Would you like to dance?" Alan asked, standing.

"So glad you asked." She put her hand in his and he led her to the floor.

He smoothed his hand over her silk ball gloves. "These are very nice." He led her to the floor and put one hand against her back and held the other in his hand against his chest. "I really like this dress," he said, caressing her back. "You truly look beautiful tonight."

"You're not so bad yourself." She slid both arms around his neck and pulled closer to him.

His eyes drifted over her face and down her neck. "You know, this is a very big building."

"Yes."

"We could very easily find some dark, remote recess where we could steal a few private moments…and…" He whispered into her ear, in explicit detail, exactly what he would like to do with her.

She looked up into his face. "You certainly have a way with words, Alan Shore. I'm all warm and gooey just thinking about it."

"Let's go find out just how warm and gooey you are."

She laughed. "Alan, we can't…it's a children's charity event."

A man stepped up out of the crowd. He could only be best described as tall, dark and handsome. The man beamed, his black eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "Zahira. So good to see you again." He had a thick accent.

Alan and Miranda stopped. Miranda's eyes darted around the room. Alan looked the man up and down slowly, setting his jaw, dropping her hand. Alan disliked him immediately.

"I-I'm sorry," Miranda said. "I think you have me confused with someone else."

"Never," the man said. He pointed to his head. "I remember everything. I forget nothing." He smiled to reveal a set of perfect, white teeth.

Miranda smiled and laughed nervously at Alan who looked askance at her.

"When will you come back to us?"

Miranda shook her head, glancing anxiously at Alan. "I can not, Saheed; it was only temporary."

"I will talk to my cousin. If you come back, we will give you more—a thousand dollars a night."

Alan's eyebrows lifted in shock.

Miranda glanced at him. "The offer is generous, but I must decline."

"Fifteen hundred. The men they ask for you all the time," Saheed said, wide-eyed. He looked at Alan. "Zahira's worth every penny."

"You've got to be kidding!" Miranda laughed. "I was never…that good."

"You are too modest."

"Zahira?" Alan said amused and puzzled. He looked back at Saheed. "Saheed is it? I can vouch for the fact that she is, in fact, worth every bit of fifteen hundred. And if I had to pay, I'm certain I would pay much…" He raked his eyes over Miranda. "…_much_ more; however, I think I must be receiving a special VIP discount, since I haven't had to pay anything at all beyond standard dating costs."

Miranda frowned at him. "That's unnecessary."

"Is it?" He smirked, but his eyes were deadened.

Saheed said, "I will go get my cousin. You will talk to him."

"No please, Saheed."

Alan and Miranda watched Saheed move briskly over to another man. He spoke in the man's ear and pointed in Miranda's direction.

"Seems we have something to discuss later, Miranda," Alan whispered. "Or is it Zahira?"

Saheed and his cousin moved toward them, smiling.

Alan said, putting his hand to the middle button of his tuxedo jacket. "I think I'll leave you to your… friends. I'm going to go sit with Denny and Joan." The wall went up behind his eyes again. He walked off slowly.

"Dammit," she muttered to herself. "Alan wait." But she could not go after him because Saheed and his cousin were already before her.

Alan sat at the table, sipped his champagne to douse his anger as he watched her talking with them.

Denny's eyes followed Alan's target. He watched the scene for a few moments then leaned toward Alan. "Who's she talking to?" He whispered.

"I have no idea. Saheed-something. I've never met him before. Where's Joan?"

He waved his hand. "Ah, she's over there schmoozing with some guy about property or… something."

Alan nodded.

"Is he an ex-boyfriend?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

Denny thought for a moment and then gasped. "Oh! Or maybe both of them are," he said in a suggestive voice.

"Denny, this really isn't helping." Alan watched one of the men hand her what appeared to be a business card. She pushed away his hand, shaking her head. He insisted and she accepted it reluctantly and dropped it in her bag.

"You have to admit," Denny said. "She's never dull, right?"

Alan scoffed a laugh. "True."

"And…given what I know about you, you really wouldn't have it any other way."

"Indeed."

Denny growled lustily, "And she's wearing cowboy boots. She's got spunk. I like her."

Alan smiled crookedly. "Me too."

Denny added, "And that dress." He sucked in his breath. "Can I dance with her just once?"

"I suppose. However, I think she's the one you need to ask—though it seems you might have some competition—and you might have to pay."

"Wouldn't be the first time. How much?"

"Seems a thousand a night is the going rate."

"What do I get for that?"

Alan finished off his drink. "Can we not get anything stronger?"

"There's an open bar in the corner."

"Let's go. I need a scotch."

"Amen. Enough of this prissy girl champagne for one night."

* * *

When Miranda had finished her conversation, she returned to the table to find it empty. She wandered about the room finally finding the boys hovering around the open bar, scotches in hand.

Alan wouldn't look at her.

Denny ogled her. "How much would you charge to dance with me?"

"Denny, please," Alan said, exasperated. "Not now."

Miranda put her hand on her hip and turned on her charm. "Well, for you Denny Crane, it's free." Then she cocked an eyebrow at Alan. "Only because you happen to be friends with the VIP." She smirked sarcastically.

Alan tightened his lips and nodded. She could see the sarcasm in his eyes.

"Something on your mind, Alan?"

"Just curious to know who your friends are," he said.

Miranda narrowed her eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to her teeth, briefly studying him. At last she said, "I'm curious to know, based on the comment you made back there, who _you_ think those two men are."

"I can't imagine."

"Oh, I'm sure you already have," she purred. "Here's the thing, Alan, darling, I already know what you're thinking."

"Do you?" He scoffed. "Am I so transparent?"

She stepped closer to him and put her hands on her hips. "I just want to hear you say it. So let's have it."

He gazed at her steadily. She looked up into his face.

"C'mon. Give it to me, big boy," she said, challenging him. "I really want to hear you say it."

"Very well," he said, setting his jaw. "I don't mind if you were once a prostitute or even if you still are. I don't even mind that you've worked this room tonight like a common street hustler. I also don't mind sleeping with hookers; I've even been known to date a few in my lurid past, but the difference is that _they_ were at least honest about who they were."

Denny gasped. "A hooker! I love hookers!"

She glared at him, smiling, rage sparked in her eyes. "I was _never_, nor am I now, a prostitute, Alan, but it's good to know that's what you think of me. Do you really think that _I_ would do _that_? Are you so completely ignorant of who I am that you think I would debase myself in that way?"

"So let me guess: you like to sugar coat it by selling yourself as a call girl?"

She bit her bottom lip in anger and breathed deeply. She spoke slowly, "I wasn't that either."

"What else does a woman get paid a thousand dollars a night for, Miranda? I can only think of prostitution, drugs or stripping. So which is it?"

"Number one…" She stuck a finger in the air. "I didn't get paid a thousand dollars a night. They said they would pay me that amount if I came back. Number two," she raised another finger, "there are other jobs besides sex that a woman can do for a thousand a night."

"Please enlighten me," he scoffed.

"What about catering? Maybe I was a caterer for high-end functions like this." She motioned toward the room. "I guarantee the caterer makes more than a thousand a night for this—or for the wedding next door. Maybe I made wedding cakes—they make lots of money."

He stared at her evenly. "Were you a caterer?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and bit at the inside of her jaw. "No…"

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. He sipped his scotch.

She added quickly, pointing a finger at him, "But that doesn't mean I couldn't have been a caterer. You just jumped to conclusions." She put her hands on her hips then said, "And speaking of jumping to conclusions: Let's see, how did you phrase it? Oh yes. You referred to me as a common street hustler, working the room."

He winced.

"It was for charity—all six hundred dollars went to the hospital—_and_ I knew those men; it's not like I was approaching complete strangers."

"Really?" He said suspiciously.

"The first one asked for a dance, I jokingly said for $100, he said he'd do that if it went to the hospital. I said okay. He told his friends, to drum up more money for the cause and they were on board with it."

He thought for a moment. "I apologize for that misunderstanding." He gazed at her in lawyer mode. "But as to the original point: If you weren't a call girl or a caterer what _did _you do for an exorbitant amount of money for those two men?"

"There you go again—acting like my life began when I met you. Does it really matter, now that it's in the past?"

"Not particularly, but I would like to know, nevertheless."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, I don't think I want to tell you." She crossed her arms.

He sipped his scotch and thought _There's that stubborn streak of hers, rearing its ancient goddess head._

She said quietly, the storm raging in her eyes. "You either trust me or you don't. And you can either live with that or you can't. Let me know what you decide." She spun on her heel and passed out of sight.

Alan found her sitting at the table, alone, sipping her champagne.

He stood next to her. "Care to dance?"

She glared up at him.

"Please?"

She reluctantly offered her hand and followed him to the floor, petulant.

He put his arms around her. She stood stiffly against him, looking down at the floor.

"Miranda…"

"If the word 'sorry' doesn't make an appearance in the speech you're about to perform, I'm not interested in hearing it."

"Can I finish?"

"If you must." She sighed.

"I apologize," he said.

She lifted her eyes to his face.

"The truth is that it does bother me a little that you won't tell me what you've done in the past, not because I would have a problem with it. After all, I'm no saint; my life has been…depraved and degenerate at best. But all the same, I place a high value on honesty—even if the truth is not what I'd prefer to hear."

"I'm sorry I got angry. I didn't mean it." She put her head against his shoulder and relaxed into him.

"I know." He stroked her back with his fingertips. "I also know that right now, you're just being stubborn and you won't tell me simply because I want you to. If I were to guess, I would say that the truth is probably less interesting than what I imagine—it usually is. So keep your little secret. When you're ready, you'll tell me, and in the meantime, I'll trust you and I'll live with it."

She hugged him tighter.

"Look at me." She looked up at him. He said gravely, "You should know, however, in case you haven't already figured it out, trust doesn't come easily to me and it shouldn't be abused or toyed with much."

"I know. I won't." A light smile played upon her lips. She ran her gloved hands along his neck and face and pulled his face to hers for a kiss.

"I really like these gloves," he said, taking one of her hands and kissing it. "So tell me, are you still irritated about taking Denny to Paris with us."

She shrugged. "I was angry for a while. But then I took a long, hot bath and thought about it. I'm over it now."

He ran both hands down her bare back and rested them on her hips. With earnest eyes he asked, "So is it okay if I ask Denny to come with us?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"You won't care?" He said suspiciously.

She shrugged. "I know how important he is to you. Surely we can still manage _some_ alone time."

"Undoubtedly." He kissed her forehead.

When the song ended, they returned to the table where Joan and Denny were sitting, enjoying a drink and talking intimately.

Alan sat down next to Denny, patting him on the shoulder. Denny looked up at him, smiling.

Alan said, "I have a question for you Denny."

"Shoot."

"Miranda and I are going to Paris next week and we would like to take you."

"Paris? Are you crazy? Why would I want to hang out with a bunch of Frenchies? I'd rather have my balls crushed in a vise grip."

Miranda laughed. "Too much information, Denny."

Alan winced. "Even so, it wouldn't be the same without you."

"I'd rather go to Hawaii with Joan."

"Hawaii," he said flatly, glancing at Joan, who was smiling brightly, giddy.

"Yep. She said work's been driving her crazy and she'd like to get away for a little while. I said, 'Me too, how about Hawaii?'"

"Interesting," Alan said. He glanced at Miranda suspiciously, who pulled a compact out of her clutch and pretended to be preoccupied with the application of her red lipstick. Alan turned back to Denny. "So when is this trip to Hawaii?"

"Two weeks from now. We're booking first thing tomorrow."

"How convenient—that happens to be the exact week we're going to Paris!" Alan said putting his arm around Miranda. "Isn't that right, dear?"

She said, "What's that?" clicking her mirror shut and dropping it in her bag.

"Denny is going to Hawaii with Joan at the exact same time you and I are going to Paris. Isn't that an _uncanny_ coincidence?" He said sarcastically.

Miranda tried to appear inconspicuous. "It is. Good for you! Where will you stay?"

"Maui, but I'm sure we'll see all the islands."

"Lovely. Sounds like a lot of fun."

She could feel Alan's steely gaze on her.

"Going to be looking at any local attractions?"

"We'll be lucky to see the outside of the hotel room," Denny said.

"Oh you!" Joan said, slapping his arm playfully. She said to Miranda, "I'd really like to see Diamond Head and I want to go scuba diving."

"Let's do it naked. Skinny-dipping scuba diving."

Joan laughed.

Alan continued to stare.

Miranda looked at him and said, "Isn't that wonderful, sweetie? If we weren't going to be in Paris, I'd be jealous," she said to Joan.

Alan set his jaw and mused, "Hmm." He tapped a finger twice on the table. He touched her back and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "How about we find that dark recess? There's something I'd just love to talk about with you."

She slid her hand up his thigh and said, "How about we go home and then, if we want to, we can talk all night long."

He smirked, struggling against the sensation of her hand on his thigh. "Very well. Your place?"

She nodded.

He leaned over to Denny and asked to leave.

"Thank God! I wanted to leave an hour ago. I've only stayed this long because I thought you wanted to stay."

Alan whispered, "I'm staying with Miranda tonight, if you don't care to drop us by her place."

* * *

"All I have is merlot. I'm out of your scotch." She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, sliding out of them, tossing them on top of her keys and purse on the coffee table.

Alan removed his coat and hung it over the back of a nearby chair. "Merlot is fine." He removed his tie and dropped it on the table beside him as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. He sat in the corner of the couch with a sigh.

Miranda sat on the table and pulled off her boots saying, "You know, Alan, you're really a wonderful dancer. I just love dancing with you." She stood and walked over to a side table, singing under her breath: _I could have danced all night and still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things I've never done before._ She drifted off into humming while she poured the wine. She handed a glass to Alan then curled up on the couch next to him.

He wore his smirky lawyer face. He crossed one leg over the other and spread an arm across the back of the couch, the other hand balancing the wine glass on his leg. "So, don't you think it's a strange coincidence that Denny and Joan are going to Hawaii at the exact same time we're going to Paris?"

She nodded, sipping her merlot. She put her glass on the coffee table and began pulling pins from her hair. "It is a strange coincidence, but a fortuitous one, I think," she said, a mask of innocence on her face, still humming the song.

_Just like an ancient goddess to meddle in others' affairs_, he thought_. _"You wouldn't happen to know anything about how this event came to transpire?"

Ringlets of hair dropped one by one as she pulled out pins. She smiled crookedly. "And if I did? Would you be disappointed in me?"

"Disappointed is too strong a word, I think. But I would be annoyed."

"Would you be angry?" She bit her bottom lip and her eyes flicked up at him through a strand of hair.

"A little, but nothing I couldn't soon get over…with…the right encouragement."

"Well," she said, "I might have mentioned something to Joan about it and she seemed to think it was a good idea since she hasn't been on vacation in a long time—three years I think she said. She must really love her job to go so long without a vacation." All the curls fell to her shoulders. "I don't think I could ever love any job so much." She ran her fingers through her hair to check for more pins, humming again.

He watched her. "Let me help," he said, sitting up and putting his glass aside.

She turned her back to him and he ran his fingers through her hair.

"How long has it been since you've had a real vacation, Alan?"

"A couple years, I think. Denny and I went to a wonderful fishing lodge in Nimmo Bay. We went to a dude ranch a couple years later, but I don't really count that because I had such a horrible time. Then there were a couple working vacations to New Orleans and Los Angeles."

"Working vacation? See the point of the vacation is so you don't work at all—you relax."

"I relax."

"When?"

"Denny took me to his health spa once when I had a horrible outbreak of word salad. And then there's sex—that post-coital moment when my whole body feels like jelly and it seems I no longer have any control over my muscles or movements. I'm relaxed then." Then he announced, "No more pins."

"Don't you think it's time to enjoy a proper vacation?"

Alan began massaging her scalp. "I suppose. But I don't like your interference—you sneaky vixen."

She laughed. "One of my many charms."

"No doubt."

"But I think Joan will keep him distracted enough to stay out of trouble. Since they're flying, he can't carry weapons and all contact information will be exchanged so that we can contact each other at any time. Does that help?"

He slid his hands down to her shoulders and began massaging them. She relaxed into his hands and released a low moan—a sound that intoxicated him.

"It does—a little."

"Denny is a big boy. He can take care of himself—even with the mad cow. He's not so very far advanced that he must have an around the clock attendant."

He ran his hands further down her back, digging his fingers into her muscles. "I just worry, that's all."

"Yes, but I worry about you."

He chuckled. "I'm fine."

"Are you? You're married to work. You are much too generous with everyone on staff. If Shirley, Carl, Brad, Denise—whomever—asks for your help, you rarely, if ever, say no. You take on their problems, _plus_ work your own cases. You don't take care of yourself like you should."

"You sound like Denny…sort of."

"What do you mean?"

"He said, essentially, that you are too young and _vigorous_ for me—that I can't keep up with you and that you, in fact, might be the death of me."

"Nonsense. But…"

"But?"

"I do worry about you—that you take too much upon yourself. The amount of stress that you take on is enormous, Alan—not only with work, but with Denny. Of course, I help where I can, professionally and personally, which is why as someone who cares about you, I am encouraging you to take a proper vacation, to give yourself a much needed break."

"Yes, dear."

She chuckled. "I promise you'll thank me for it." She began humming the song again. "I can't get that song out of my head."

He rubbed deeper into her back muscles; it bordered on hurting. "Oh my God, Alan," she whispered, stretching and arching like a cat, enjoying the feel of his hands on her skin.

He reached over to the table and picked up her gloves.

"Don't stop," she pleaded. She looked over her shoulder at him.

He handed her the gloves. "Put these on and stand up."

She smiled crookedly and did as she was told.

"Now take off your dress."

She reached up at the back of her neck and untied the collar of her dress; it fell to a silk puddle at her feet. She stood completely nude, but for her black gloves, in the dim golden light coming from a lamp in the corner of the room. He slowly ran his eyes over her body, his penetrating eyes making her feel vulnerable, titillated.

She chuckled, and smiled coyly, and put a gloved finger to her lips. "Do you intend to punish me for my bad behavior tonight?"

"You are beautiful," he said. He moved forward. "Delectable." He ran his hands over her legs, placed soft kisses on her belly. "My intentions are not so much to punish you as help you…spread your wings and do with you a thousand things you've never done before."

She chuckled softly, tingling under his caresses and kisses.

"Which…" He stood and put his finger to her chin, looking warmly into her eyes. "If all goes as planned…will leave you begging for more. I promise you'll thank me for it."

She smiled mischievously. "You naughty, naughty man." She stroked his face with her hand.

The feel of her silk glove on his face electrified him.

"Would you like to dance?" She asked coyly, taking him by the hand.

"I'd love to."

She led him upstairs to her bedroom.


End file.
